


Grandiloquent

by Seek_The_Mist



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Each Chapter is Independent, F/M, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Missing Scene, Outtakes, Pre- and Post-Series settings, Relationship and Rating will be in the title of each chapter, To avoid tag cluttering the content warning will be in the chapter starting note, Tumblr Prompt, Various Ratings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 23:12:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17171264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seek_The_Mist/pseuds/Seek_The_Mist
Summary: A list of improbable words with intricate meaning, each associated with a snippet for a pairing.1. “Gymnophoria” + Ronan/Gansey , T-rated2. “Strikhedonia” + Ronan/Adam, T-rated3. “Brontide” + Ronan/Adam, T-rated4. “Mamihlapinatapei” + Ronan/Gansey, T-rated5. “Tarantism/Cataglottism” + Blue/Noah, E-rated





	1. “Gymnophoria” + Ronsey

**Author's Note:**

> Originally prompted and published on Tumblr, I thought I'll save them from possible nuking just in case the site goes down!
> 
> The list of words and associated definitions is from [this post](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com/post/171046675269/send-me-ship-a-word-and-i-will-write-a-drabble). I can't vouch for the accuracy and if something struck me in a particular weird way you will find my notes about it in the end section. However, it was good fun for me and I hope it will be good fun for you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Gymnophoria_ (s), n : The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.”
> 
>  
> 
> Pre-TRB, Ronan is ogling at Gansey after practice.

  
  
  


Gansey climbed up the dock, leaving the boats of the rowing team to regroup after open-river practice. The sun was shining bright on the Aglionby sport fields, an early autumn that still clung like late summer to the Virginia air.

Nelson, his vice-captain, was there to pat on his shoulders and exchange the satisfaction of two long hours of training. 

The clamour of the rowing team dragging the equipment off shore was swallowing the sound of water on rocks and wind through the leaves.  
It would have been undignified to raise his voice on top of the rest of the group, but a quick suggestion to Nelson was enough for him to be happy to take on the role and convey the captain's wishes to their colleagues. 

Somewhere in the distance, Ronan was watching. 

Gansey know he would be, even before seeing him. 

He was a creature of habit and took great pleasure on seeing them falling into places, predictable patterns followed by things and people, the absence of which would have been worth noticing and most disconcerting. So of course he would know that Ronan had finished tennis practice half an hour before, that he would skitter off to wait for Gansey. He would know, because he choose Ronan for himself, and every proof that he had been right reinstated the feeling of concordance of the fist time they found each other.

Turning his head around and finding Ronan slouched on the uphill riverbanks was that kind of proof. 

He was striking white against the lush green of the grass, Irish skin and bleached Aglionby tennis uniform, but his black curls were twisting wildly in the wind.  
Gansey smiled, appeased, and Ronan smiled back, waving his racket in a mischievous salute. 

He turned around to help the team pack up the equipment, sure that he was attended and waited for. 

Ronan’s blue eyes followed up around as a physical presence, drying the hair off his nape and creasing the wetsuit along his arms. 

Gansey bent down, taking the plastic wet shoes before they got uncomfortable. Even the wood was warm under the sole of his feet. 

A prickling on his neck made him most aware of his body in a way he wouldn’t usually be. But Ronan was watching, from the curve of his calf to the bent of his shoulders, passing along the flex of his thighs, the bumps of his back. 

Surely it wouldn’t be narcissistic to wonder how that foreign cut on himself might look. What Ronan could be seeing. 

He pulled the ropes in knots, counterchecking every boat and fixing twists that would get loose overnight otherwise. 

Sweat dragged over his temple, barely contained by a sweep of his forearm. It was hot, from exertion and weather alike. His skin was pressing against the taut fabric, and Gansey knew it was from the mechanics of a wetsuit but there was a feeling, in his mind, as if every nerve was following a pull.

Ronan was still watching, of course. His best friend had a weight on his eyes, a beacon for conjuring his desires. Gansey would be lying if he were to say he never noticed before, he never liked it.

Looking around was impossible, it would break the moment, and the moment was there, while he packed away floaters. 

On a weird whim, like water cracking under a row, he bent his arms around and dragged the wetsuit zip all the way down the bent of his spine. Unglueing from his skin was almost painful, but he left him shirtless and disconcertingly free to feel the wind, the chill, the heat. 

Ronan’s eyes kept following him.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> Prompts were tossed at me on my [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com), you can always scream at me in my ask box, if comment/kudos/flying pigeons don't suffice!
> 
> And, given the season...happy holidays!


	2. “Strikhedonia” + Pynch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Strikhedonia_ (s), noun : The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”
> 
> Post TRK. Ronan, Adam, and habits that get off track one day at Nino's.
> 
> Mentions of blood, slight public displays of affection.

  
  
  
Blue and Gansey were very late, and that was just a fact. Not a very surprising one, considering that it was announced by Gansey’s text on Ronan’s phone, claiming that the Pig was once again stranded on the roadside. 

Adam and Ronan had been on the verge of abandoning their spot at Nino’s — held by the teeth and the sheer force of Ronan’s withering glare — and rescue them with the BMW when Gansey called. Three minutes of excited rambling and not-so-technical explanations later, Adam felt himself smiling at Nino’s greasy table. 

“Yes, that trick ignition contact was actually a good course of action, it should get you here.” He echoed Gansey’s exact wording, trying not to laugh at the contempt in Ronan’s raised eyebrow. 

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done holding the phone to you here,” Blue’s voice interjected. “We’ll be there in ten, if _someone_ stops trying to impress Adam and _just drives_.”

The line was cut short around Gansey’s apologetic rambling, and Adam was left with Ronan, snickering like a maniac, and the obnoxious ambient noise of Nino’s on a Friday evening.  
For a second, he almost wished they had actually got up and went to pick them up in the middle of no where. They could have found another place to eat, one where his asymmetric hearing would have drove him a little less crazy.

“You alright, Parrish?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.”

It was loud and he was hungry, but he didn’t want to say it out loud because Ronan would try and fix it, and that would mean sending the evening very possibly downhill. Yet, when Ronan stole a pack of breadsticks left unattended for just long enough, and passed it to him, Adam was profoundly grateful. 

He munched on the vaguely-cardboardy Nino’s breadstick slowly, used to make things last especially if they were free, and tried to pretend he weren’t deeply aware of how many groups of Aglionby students surrounded them. Their eyes were on them — because Ronan was Ronan, and Adam was Adam and they were sitting close to each other, like a misplaced fragment of Gansey’s court. Words was starting to roam Henrietta, rumors that there might be a very specific reasons why they were more often seen alone, now. 

Not so long ago, he would have cared about it for a hundred and more idiosyncrasies. They were all slipping out of his hands, now, at an increasingly faster faster while graduation day approached. 

Ronan was playing with a scab on his arm, long and thin cut that was halfway through healing. Adam huffed, eyerolling, but still reached out to leave him more room. 

“What? It’s not my fault you grate yourself like parmesan in that fucking garage.”

“I don’t. And your fault is that you’re gross and you like playing with stuff like this.”

Part of the scab was obediently peeling off under Ronan’s nervous fingers. The warmth and the touch of short nails were pinged in his brain, luring is attention. Ronan’s obsessive focus was even more captivating. 

There were people watching and snickering, from the tables on the line of sight. Adam kept munching on his bread and did not withdraw his arm. 

“I’m not gross, you’re just an asshole.”

“It’s not like one excludes the other, you know?”

Ronan grinned with even more teeth, at the comeback. The scab was completely off, now, the newly healed skin underneath pink and a bit stretched, tender around a centre that was not fully closed yet. Ronan pressed his fingertips on the skin, mesmerized by the sight, or the thin trail of blood peaking up. 

He bit his lower lip pensively, and in a weird, convoluted flash of desires Adam yearned to kiss him. 

Instead, he just lifted his arm, bringing the scabbed off wound closer to Ronan’s face. “Clean after yourself.”

Ronan raised his eyes in a shocked flash of disbelief. It lasted only a fraction of second, before he wrapped his fingers around Adam’s wrist, strong like an iron clasp, and dragged the arm completely to his mouth. 

Raven boys of all kinds were still watching, talking, snickering, existing. Adam felt the brush of Ronan’s humid exhale on his skin and wondered if the jump of his sternum meant that he was socially conscious, caring. 

Ronan followed the cut with a long lap, a bit excessive, maybe explicitly gross. Adam could only laugh, even while his stomach flipped, but he did not smack him away from the contact, and was rewarded with two slow kisses. 

The third one was a bit less chaste, a bit more full mouthed, sucking on his skin in a way that prickled along Adam’s veins, all the way to his brain. He broke the last of the breadsticks, reflexively tightening the grip on the pack in his free hand.

Maybe the whole Nino’s was watching, by now. 

But Ronan’s grip stayed strong around his wrist and Adam really couldn't give a damn after all.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Full disclosure, I'm not sure if this word is actually a word, might be one of the internet's many creations, but it was surely inspiring for me!
> 
> Find me on my [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com), possibly!


	3. “Brontide” + Pynch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Brontide_ (s), noun : The low rumbling of distant thunder."
> 
> Post TRK. Even after all that happened, Ronan still dreams of Adam, and contemplates on the concept.

  
  
  
Even now, after the downfall and resurgence of Ronan’s dreamscape, a personal version of Adam sometimes filtered in. Neither true or fake, detached and impalpable, he would always accompany Ronan through his most feverish, aimless dreams. 

Cabeswater — new and old, different yet still the same — still remembered him. Invested with power, the Adam of his dream tiptoed effortlessly through twisted roots and impenetrable patches of forest. Space and time would bent to his will, and he would never call for Ronan — as disdainful as ever — but would still manage to lure him wherever he wanted him.

This Adam was frozen in time, hands covered in dirt, eyes shiny and out-worldly. Ready for a sacrifice, ready to become something else entirely. 

Tonight, Ronan dreamt of purple skies and electric air. The ground rumbled underneath his feet, or maybe it was some distance in the darkness. Adam was in front of him — one step away and unreachable at the same time — with thunder in the depth of his eyes and. 

He could bend the world or keep it on its feet with the same ease and the same sly smile that tilted his lips upwards. Likewise, his face was a collection of cracks, as if this power could make him, or break him. 

Another echo of thunder hummed through the air and everything flashed white, just like he was springing towards Adam — certain, in the weird certainty of dreams, that this would be the time for him to _break_ , if Ronan didn’t reach him now.

He woke up in his bed with spot still dancing on his vision, oversaturated. 

A storm was raging in the background. He could have been inserted in his dreams because it was happening, or maybe it was happening because he just dreamt about it. It didn’t really make a different, after all.

Beside him, the real Adam slept obliviously, dead to the world and trusting, his forehead pressed on the side of Ronan’s arm. 

Ronan turned around on his side, sneaking an arm around Adam’s shoulders. Adam sighed slightly, without waking up, and just snuggled under the covers to rest between the pillow and Ronan chest.

He was shirtless, warm, like an aftertaste of intimacy. Even blindly, Ronan could trace the mark of his own mouth on tanned skins by muscle memory. 

Facing the the darkness, wide awake and certainly sleepless for what was left of the night, Ronan kept Adam close and contemplated his solidness, his wholeness. 

They got very close to it, but Adam was not going to break, now, after having rebuilt himself around his cracks.

What was left for Ronan to ponder were all the _what if_ s he wasn’t sure how to circumvent.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading the existential rumble with bedsharing!
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com) is over here!


	4. “Mamihlapinatapei” + Ronsey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Mamihlapinatapei_ (s), noun : The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move."
> 
> Pre-TRB. After Niall's death, some nights at Monmouth exist only as a shared space.

  
  
  
Monmouth Manufactory, as a building, was prone to a lot of things, few of which had anything to do with an actually livable place. 

Too much sunlight, too few sunlight. Draught from the corner of any window, and greenhouse effect. Impossible to heat up, impossible to cool down. Glutting water pressure. Extremely prone to blackouts. 

The net result is that it was an outrageously cold middle of winter, it was raining in buckets and the only light in the warehouse was coming from the lamppost on the pavement. The walls seemed to be melting, the shadow of running water projected from the windows and distorted by the distance. 

There are a thousands and more reasons for which it would have been a good idea for Ronan to go out and fuel some reckless racing with alcohol. He hasn’t been the strongest in the “Good Ideas” department, recently, so it was probably fitting that he was in, dreadfully sober. _Definitely_ too sober to be on Gansey’s back, cocooned with him in the duvet, backs resting against the bed’s headboard. Definitely too sober for the way Gansey had mindlessly tucked the cold tip of his feet in the bent of Ronan’s legs, too invested on his linguistic blabbering to care about _propriety_.

“So you see, I really do reckon the word in this context is a wrong transliteration for the ancient root, and that would be significant, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s ten degrees of shits away from the fucking starting point, but sure.”

Yet, Ronan still asked followup inane questions, probably lacking Gansey’s researchers spark but sufficient to keep him talking. Gansey-dissecting-Glendower was too invested not to be captivating. And Ronan really didn’t want to think about the fact that he was so hyper because he didn’t need to worry about the BMW crashing in a ditch in the middle of the storm. 

It was good, that the light was out.

The most Ronan had too look at, like this, was the shade of blues from the phone light reflected off the aristocratic features of Gansey’s face. And then, after the battery chirped in protest, it was not even that, but only grey, diffused light. 

It was better than seeing concern chewing Gansey up — as if Ronan was something under his responsibility, his to keep in one piece, his not to fail. Ronan didn’t want to be _taken care of_ , not if care was too close to burden, and burden was too close to _worn out tolerance_. 

In a night like this, when Gansey was satisfied with him — with not smelling alcool, not seeing new cuts, having even managed to drag Ronan to three full classes — it was absolutely vital to have all this darkness surrounding him. 

Because it would be arrogant, and misplaced, to let his mind wander about what simmered in Gansey’s hazel eyes, when he looked at Ronan and he didn’t have to worry. 

Ronan didn’t want to see, in fear to misinterpret what he could be seeing. And for the love of God he didn’t want to talk about it, or he would end up destroying more than the conversation, if any interaction with Declan was anything to go by.

So he stayed silent, and unseeing, and plastered on Gansey’s side. 

Gansey’s knuckles were maddeningly close to the skin of Ronan’s hip, naked were the sweater had decided to rile up against the pillows. 

It was so late at night — so silent, so dark and so surreal — that there was no answer, and no question, and no space-time continuity, in Gansey grabbing onto Ronan’s nape. 

This was the kind of night in which Ronan could dig his fingers in the muscles of Gansey’s thigh, tilt his head, and let Gansey’s breath wash off his skin. Kisses on his temple, lips dragging through the prickliness of his buzz-cut, the smell of mint close enough to taste, even though Ronan would never have the courage to chase out that scent on Gansey’s tongue directly.

He will allow himself this, and whatever Gansey was thinking would not matter. It will be slippery and gone, silent and not really threatening, as soon as the lights would come back up.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Something in the description of this word irks me, I think it's the use of the relative, but I didn't write the prompts so I take them as they come!  
> However, this word appears to have a fairly interesting story, you can read it [on wikipedia here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mamihlapinatapai)!
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com) over here!


	5. “Tarantism/Cataglottism” + Blue/Noah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Cataglottism_ (s), noun : Kissing with tongue"  
> “ _Tarantism_ (s), noun : The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing"
> 
> Somewhere around BLLB. A busy afternoon in 300 Fox way becomes hectic between Noah and Blue.
> 
> Explicit in nature. Kissing, fingering.

  
  
  
The kids party going on downstairs was something that Blue had _definitely_ needed to escape the moment Orla took control of their cheap stereo system and the pile of old CDs, proclaiming herself the DJ of the afternoon.

It wasn’t that she hate the kids. And she certainly didn’t hate the music. But Orla irked her as a basic concept, like a constant, walking comparison of an inadequance she didn’t want to feel. This wasn’t the kind of afternoon when Blue was keen to be reminded that she was shorter, less sensual, less sparkling than Orla, even if the audience wouldn’t even qualify as teenagers.

“Do I need to join the sulk-fest?” Noah asked, as if he had always been there to keep her company behind the closed door of her room.

“I don’t know, do you want to? This can be the official sulk kingdom,” Blue counter, weirdly use to these sudden appearances now. It had been awkward for just a tiny bit — after they had kissed on the bed — but it was difficult to tiptoe around Noah for something like this if she could sense him getting gloomier and gloomier, as if sensing that something bad approached.

Noah wrinkled his nose, “Nah, not really.” Blue eyed him sympathetically. “But, you know, I could show you some moves?” he said that jumping his shoulders asymmetrically, in time with the music coming from downstairs, and no sulking could stop Blue form laughing and getting up.

That’s how they ended up bumping and twisting around the very little space around the bed, and the more Blue would gear up in the beat, the more markedly there Noah would get.

“Ow,” Blue protested in a very exaggerated manner, after hitting the corner of her own bed with her knee during a particularly energetic spin by Noah. “You’re a terrible dancer.”

“I’m not! I used to own every dance floor in town!” 

“Yeah, tell that to my knee, legendary dance-floor-owner.”

Noah cooed, feigning support, but grabbed her leg as if she got impaired by the hit. Admittedly, it was easier to keep close quarters and get spun around Noah’s own legs than trying silly acrobatics with no room to move.

Noah’s touch was cold, but the fingers digging in her thigh were stronger than usual. After a couple of minutes, Blue realized that the leg between hers actually felt solid.

It was a weird realization, considering that she only had tight volley shorts and an artistically modified t-shirt on. It was even weirder, when the continuous rocking against each other sent a couple of interested shivers through her hips and up the spine.

Maybe it got just a little bit less weird, paradoxically, when Noah leaned in and kissed her, still keeping her balanced on one foot only. 

There were so many reasons Blue knew she should not indulge on this — not last, the fact that she knew she could only kiss him without batting an eye because he was already dead — but in the heat of the moment and the beat of the afternoon, she could genuinely not be bothered. 

She got his tongue in her mouth more readily, this second time, knowing it was a possibility. In that point of contact, Noah was almost warm as a living person, getting warmer. It felt as good as the first time in her bed or maybe better. Noah kept sliding his tongue behind Blue’s teeth and it felt tingling and sensitive, so she bit down a bit and sucked on his tongue. Noah groaned and giggled at the same time. 

They kept at it for a while, and Blue wasn’t sure of when she got the wall on her back, but the friction of Noah’s leg between her legs was close, and good, so she grasped on his shoulders and kept kissing him. Everything still seemed to match indistinct beat of the music from downstairs.

Then, suddenly, she felt Noah’s fingers sliding in from the top of her shorts all the way into her panties. This seriously wasn’t something she could fail to notice, and yet the fact only really clicked in her mind when two fingers slid between her folds. Very easily and almost frictionless, and she was a bit responsible for that. 

Noah was staring at her with big, bold eyes, looking wild and mischievous and very unsure at the same time. But Blue did not bit his face off, staring back in not-quite-disbelief. 

He moved his fingers, and her jaw dropped open, just a tiny bit. Blue’s jaw dropped open, Noah seemed to take it as a clue to kiss her again and — well — it wasn’t such a bad idea. 

The distance rhythm of the music was still there, but Noah was off-synch, now. Sudden and earnest and nervous. His tongue moved slower then his fingers, but Blue was failing to properly taste the contact, overwhelmed by the feeling pooling in her belly. 

He fingered wetly, in fast circles around her most sensitive spots, but with fingertips grazing where she was softer, where he could have tried to slid in even though he didn’t. Blue has never been touched by someone else’s hand before and Noah was definitely not pacing himself the way she usually would, late at night in bed. It was the same inner satisfaction of scratching an itch for dear life, only hundreds time better, visceral.

Blue’s hips twitched and Noah stopped kissing her just in time for her to whine against his lips. 

The fingers stop circling the moment she was done coming, weird and telepatic and perfect at the same time. 

Noah let go of her leg, now, slowly, with a smile as oversaturated as himself at the tiny shudder that ran through Blue’s back. So close to her, he was warmer than he has ever been, pulsing in synch with her energy.

“Now we can dance some more,” he proclaimed, all energy and bliss.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I've been waiting to write about these two for AGES!
> 
> As usual, find me on [Tumblr](http://seekthemist.tumblr.com) over here, I have another one of these in my draft and I really need to finish it!


End file.
